


The Prize

by Ack_Emma



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Quest, Racket's 13 days of Halloween, Ritual, if that decision ends up ruining your life feel free to shout abuse at me in the comments, there's a crossover here but I'm not going to spoil the ending by tagging it, utterly ridiculous I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ack_Emma/pseuds/Ack_Emma
Summary: For Racketghost's 13 Days of HalloweenDay 13 prompt: ritual
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween





	The Prize

Aziraphale was a brilliant scholar, an exacting scribe with millennia of practice, a precise caretaker of delicate tomes, an expert gavotte dancer. 

The circle chalked on his bookshop floor, he’d designed and inscribed that himself. He’d painstakingly studied and chosen the most suitable passages from the Cabala to interact with angelic magic and bolster that conduit with Heaven. Its intricate construction was absolutely masterful.

Throughout human history he had assimilated into countless cultures, flawlessly adopting their complicated rules and etiquette. With a firm handle on multiple dimensions of complexity, nuance, and detail, Aziraphale was supremely qualified to succeed in his current endeavour.

Despite all that, he’d never been on a quest quite like this before. The stakes were so visceral, so personal. He could feel the fear of failure deep in the pit of his stomach. 

And to attempt it on All Hallows’ Eve! He tried not to ascribe any significance to that. It was unfortunate timing but couldn't be helped. The need was dire.

He had made it into the appointed chamber, whispered about in reverent and fearful tones by other seekers such as himself. There were no visible hazards or traps but Aziraphale knew the dangers were not obvious ones. He must be alert, careful.

Aziraphale assessed his surroundings, measured with his eyes the distance to his target. Hovered, the way only a winged, supernatural being knew how to hover. Feeling the moment was at hand he angled his left foot, powering the twitch of his leg muscles with just the right jolt of energy. He was nervous and a bit fatigued, having journeyed under his corporation’s own power and braved the elements to get to this point. So close to his goal he could practically taste it.

He tried to ignore the vaguely malevolent glare that seemed to permeate the place.

Aziraphale’s eyes swept the length of the magnificence before him, appraising the secrets and mysteries therein. He raised his arm, deposited his supplicant’s offering in the ceremonial place. He had endlessly pondered and practiced this next part and was confident in its execution. Without hesitation he spoke the sacred words with the specific intonation and cadence needed to make the ritual work.

When the last word left his lips every one of Aziraphale’s eyes in the ethereal plane squeezed shut in apprehension. His earthly corporation was still and tense. A sharp gust of wind blew through the portal he’d passed through just a few minutes ago, chilling him.

Though the air seemed thick with anticipation, in this perilous moment nothing happened. Silence. No thunderbolt of doom. Aziraphale took this as an indication he could continue, that he was walking the narrow tightrope with the necessary precision.

He pressed his lips together, cast his eyes downward. Feet already pointed correctly he haltingly alternated their movements until he faced the great oracle who would grant his boon.

The treasure appeared. Beads of sweat gathered on Aziraphale’s brow as he reached for it. It was heavy in his hands, radiating heat and power.

Like many an eager, overconfident adventurer, Aziraphale made the mistake of pausing where he was to examine his newly-obtained prize. 

Then he proved an outright fool and opened his mouth.

“I didn’t get any bread!”

Crowley hissed, a few feet away, “just forget it, angel, let it go.”

Aziraphale believed in the power of genteel discourse, in the inherent goodness of humans. It was also cold outside and he wanted the carbs. “Excuse me.” He leaned in politely. “I think you forgot my bread.”

The source of the malevolent glare replied in dark, tantalizing tones. Aziraphale was drawn in but Crowley knew better and winced. “You want bread?”

“Yes, please.” Aziraphale gave his cheeriest smile.

The retort was filled with terrifying ire. “Three dollars!”

“What?” That radiant smile transformed instantly into betrayal and despair.

Crowley snapped his fingers before the man behind the counter did. The human was just about to shout something, and the oracle’s arm had started to reach toward the angel. All the mortals in the restaurant froze.

“Aziraphale, why are we going through all this?”

“No one makes pumpkin butternut squash soup like this place does, Crowley, no one!” The angel’s pleading eyes and the way he clutched the paper bag to his chest, these were forms of assault against which Crowley had no defense.

Crowley made sure to roll his eyes with his whole body, then snaked an impossibly flexible arm over the sneeze guard to grab a handful of bread. 

“Everything’s fine, nothing to see here,” he instructed the entranced humans. “Carry on once we’ve left.” His bread-free hand ushered a beaming Aziraphale past the queue and out the door.

Sitting on a nearby park bench, Aziraphale breathed in the smell of soup and took a delighted spoonful. 

“Did you see, Crowley? I knew all the steps!”

“Yeah angel, I saw.” Crowley sprawled across the other end of the bench, watched him and smiled. Bundled up with a tartan scarf, the vivid leaves on the trees framed Aziraphale in a cozy autumn scene. “You did all the steps.”

Aziraphale continued to eat, far past the point his paper bowl should have been empty. Crowley’s long-fingered hand was able to grab quite a lot of bread, though the angel’s appetite was equal to the task. He finally dabbed his lips with a napkin and gave a shimmy of satisfaction.

“Mission accomplished!” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. Crowley noticed, in their line of sight, a bakery with the most twee jack-o-lantern biscuits he’d ever seen. “ _ Next _ ?”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! 🎃


End file.
